My Halloween Costume Didn’t Survive That Night

That week Mateo was away in Germany and Rodrigo, who insists on making everyone believe he’s a devout man, doesn’t celebrate Halloween. So my friends and I decided to put something together ourselves, mostly just for the fun of dressing up and going out dancing together, like when we were twenty. There were seven of us that night.

We went to a big party outside Valdivia, one of those get-togethers where half the university faculty ends up mixed in. Carolina has a huge vacation house nearby, and the idea was to wind up there if things stretched on. And they did.

I’ll admit it: none of us are saints, but none of us left home thinking about what happened. We went out to laugh. To feel looked at. To remember that beneath our roles as university professors there were still women with desire, with wet cunts and a wish for someone to remind us of it.

The party was the least of it. We danced, drank more than we should have, took a hundred ridiculous photos. Around four in the morning we went to Carolina’s house. We didn’t all arrive in the same car, but almost at the same time. It was Carolina, Marcela, Renata, Paula, Daniela, Gabriela, and me.

Soon after, some of Carolina’s friends showed up, men who also work at the university, in systems. Truthfully, we didn’t know them; apart from Carolina, none of us recognized them. But they knew us, and that, with a couple of drinks in us, already felt different.

—So you’re the famous ones —one of them said, setting a bottle on the coffee table—. Carolina talks about you all the time.

Famous. As if they knew something about us that we still didn’t know ourselves.

We started talking, everyone very polite at first. But the costumes we were wearing were pretty daring, and little by little that politeness changed temperature. A laugh that lasted a second too long. A hand on a knee. A gaze that dropped and rose without even trying to hide it. Before I knew it, almost everyone was flirting openly.

There was one fewer man than women, so one of them ended up between Renata and Paula, the two pressed against him as if they’d known him all their lives. The rest of us split up the others. The living room was spacious, and no one made the slightest attempt to find privacy. We were all there together, and that was precisely what made it heat up.

***

Carolina was dressed as a cop, and the guy who got her took obvious pleasure in it.

—I didn’t know officers were so obedient —he said, laughing, while he yanked down the skirt of her uniform and ran an open hand over her bare ass—. Look at how wet you are, officer. You can see it through your panties.

She didn’t answer. She just turned around, ripped off her thong herself with a sharp yank, and braced her hands on the back of the sofa, legs spread and her cunt already shining. The guy dropped his pants, grabbed his cock with one hand, and started running the head over her wet lips, not putting it in yet, until she growled, “Put it in already, asshole,” in a hoarse voice. He drove it into her in one hard thrust that tore a cry from her, and kept going like that, pounding her all the way, one hand on her hip and the other yanking her hair back like reins. In the three hours I spent in that living room, before changing places, I watched him ride her again and again, no hurry, as if they had all night ahead of them. And they did. He put her on her back on the sofa with her legs over his shoulders, laid her on her side and lifted one leg, sat her on top of him astride so she could ride him herself with her tits out while he sucked on her nipples, and every time he came he shot it all over her —on her stomach, in her mouth, on her tits— like he was marking territory.

The man I got put me on top of him first. He tore off what little was left of my costume, grabbed my tits with both hands, and started sucking my nipples one by one, barely biting them, while I fumbled blindly for his fly. When I pulled his cock out I stopped for a second to look at it: thick, hard, the tip already wet. I spat on it and started stroking him slowly, squeezing hard, until he lifted my hips, pushed my panties aside, and impaled me in one go. I took him all the way inside and let out a moan that escaped from very deep inside me. I started bouncing up and down on him, hands on his shoulders, feeling myself open up inside every time I came down. Then he leaned me back with my legs over his shoulders, got down on his knees on the carpet, and shoved it into me again in that position, folding me in half, with my knees almost touching my ears. By then I was only still wearing the little skirt from the costume; I was Sailor Moon, and all that was left of the heroine was the ribbon in my hair. I felt the rough carpet on my back and his weight on top of me, and over his shoulder I could see the others.

Because that was the other thing: almost all of us were moved into different positions over the course of the night, especially Marcela, who seemed to never get tired. He had her on all fours in front of the fireplace, tits hanging and ass high, and he was fucking her standing behind her, spanking her so hard the slaps echoed through the whole room. Each smack made her clench, and she laughed and asked for another. Then I heard her ask him point-blank, with no shame at all, “Fuck me in the ass, do whatever you want to me,” and he spat, lined himself up, and shoved it into her asshole slowly, easing in little by little, while Marcela moaned with her mouth open against the carpet. Daniela’s man had her face down, biting her neck, his cock buried to the hilt, and she buried her face in a cushion so she wouldn’t scream too loud. He lifted her hips to put her in doggy style, spread her ass cheeks with his thumbs, and kept thrusting like that, watching himself go in and out, gleaming with wetness, until he flipped her onto her back and filled her tits with thick streams of cum.

Renata and Paula were the ones who made it a threesome, and seeing them was what finally made me lose control. The guy stripped them completely, unhurried, like someone unwrapping a gift he’d been imagining for a while. He unclasped their bras with his teeth, yanked down their panties by biting the elastic, and spread their legs to run his tongue over both their cunts, alternating between one and the other. He put one on top of the other, made them kiss, caressed both of them at the same time while they rubbed cunt to cunt, their sweat-slick bodies sliding against each other, hard nipples knocking together.

He always left Paula on the bottom, with Renata on top. And there was something perverse about that, because Paula has the face of a serious intellectual, the kind who grades exams with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and seeing her undone, mouth open, tongue out, eyes closed, doubled the arousal. Renata’s hair fell over Paula’s shoulders like a curtain while they kissed, and the guy kept switching between the two without either of them protesting: he rammed his cock into Renata from behind while she ate Paula’s cunt, and two minutes later he pulled it out, shining, turned, and shoved it into Paula’s mouth, who sucked him down completely, tasting herself in him. At one point he had the two of them kneeling in front of him, shoulder to shoulder, and they took turns sucking him, passing him from mouth to mouth, licking each other’s lips when the cock went from one to the other. When the guy came, he did it over both their faces together, and they licked the cum off each other without stopping smiling.

—Look at them —my guy whispered in my ear, never stopping his thrusts inside me, deep strokes that made me clench my teeth—. They can’t stop. They’re a pair of whores and they didn’t even know it.

Neither could I. I turned my head just enough not to miss anything and discovered that Gabriela, the shyest of all, the one who always leaves dinner early, was kneeling in front of one of them with a surrender I would never have imagined. She was sucking his cock all the way down, taking him in whole, choking and coming back for more, strings of saliva hanging from her chin and dripping onto her tits. Her eyes were fixed upward, looking for approval, and he gave it to her by tangling his fingers in her hair and pushing her head to his rhythm, fucking her mouth until she gagged and still kept going. When he lifted her, sat her on the edge of the table, opened her legs in one sharp motion, and buried his face between her thighs, eating her cunt hungrily, Gabriela grabbed her own head with both hands and howled. Seeing her, exactly her, was like confirming that that night we had all crossed the same threshold and none of us meant to turn back.

Then I felt something I hadn’t expected: not shame, but a kind of relief. As if I’d been holding that in for years and someone had finally given me permission.

***

He squeezed my breasts while kissing my neck, twisting my nipples between his thumb and forefinger until he wrung a whimper out of me, and then suddenly he turned me and left me face down on the carpet, one hand buried in my hair and the other spreading my ass cheeks.

—This body looks like it likes war —he said against my ear, while he dragged the tip of his cock up and down my wet slit, not deciding to put it in yet.

And without saying much more, he grabbed my hips and fucked me from behind for a good while. Each thrust pushed me a few centimeters forward on the carpet and burned the skin on my knees and tits, but I didn’t ask him to stop. He pulled all the way out to the tip and slammed back in with one hard stroke, making me moan every time. I moved, half trying to get away and half trying to find him, pushing my ass back to take him deeper.

—Wait, you can’t do this to me —I told him, my voice breaking, my cheek mashed against the carpet—. You met me four hours ago.

—That doesn’t matter anymore —he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice—. I’ve got you already. I’ve got your cunt already, I’ve got you open, and I’m not letting go until you come two more times.

Then he put one finger in my mouth, and without really knowing why, I started sucking it slowly, imagining it was something else. He added a second finger and pressed my tongue down, fucking my mouth with his fingers at the same rhythm he was fucking my cunt. With his other hand he held one breast, keeping me pinned to the carpet, and every now and then he slapped my ass, the sound echoing while my skin burned. When he took his fingers out of my mouth, he ran them over my asshole, wetting me with my own saliva, and started pressing there too, one finger while he kept driving into my cunt. I came like that, with a finger in my ass and his cock in my cunt, clenching everything so hard that he let out a rough laugh and told me, “That’s it, just like that, squeeze it tight.”

For a moment I opened my eyes and couldn’t believe what I was seeing: all of us, university professors, the same women who were going to be teaching class on Monday, tangled up in that living room with a group of men we barely knew, their semen running down our legs and tits.

I guess it was the alcohol. I guess it was the hour. But I know what really pushed me was being there, in the same room as all of them, hearing them, watching them, even smelling them, feeling like part of something none of us would dare to tell afterward. There were seven women and six men, and for one night the living room was ours.

***

After that, the man with me took me to one of the bathrooms. The house is so big it has several, and this one had a large shower, the kind with water falling from above. There he finished stripping me, yanking the ribbon from my hair and throwing it to the floor. He’s a big man, and he lifted me as if I weighed nothing; he turned me in the air and, holding me by the thighs with his hands spread over my ass, we set up a standing sixty-nine that I still don’t understand how it didn’t end with both our heads on the floor.

He opened me with his tongue, slowly, burying it in my cunt and sliding it up to my clit with the sharp tip, sucking my lips with his whole mouth, while I had him in my mouth, focused on not letting go. His cock was so hard I could barely fit it; I dragged my tongue over the head, wrapped my lips around it and went down as far as I could, feeling the pulse in my throat. I grabbed his balls with one hand and massaged them, and he responded by putting two fingers in my cunt while licking my clit at the same time. I could feel blood rushing to my face, the vertigo of being upside down, his firm hands on my thighs, and I came in his mouth with his cock still in mine, choking back the cry against his shaft.

When he set me down, he turned on the tap and hot water came down over us in a rush. He pressed me against the tiles. At first the contrast made me shiver: the cold wall against my stomach, the hot water on my back, his body boxing me in against the ceramic. He opened my legs with his knee, slid one arm under my thigh to lift it, and drove his cock into me again, this time slowly, easing in little by little, letting me feel every centimeter. Then he sped up. He shoved it in deep, pulled out, and shoved it back in, and the sound of the water mixed with the splashing of our wet bodies colliding. He kissed the back of my neck whenever he could, as if it cost him something to pull away even for a second, and whispered in my ear how tight I was, how good I clamped down, how much he was going to fill me. When he was close he pulled his cock out, turned me against the tiles, and made me kneel under the shower with my mouth open. He came in hot spurts that hit my tongue, my lips, my chin, while the water washed them away immediately toward the drain. I looked up at him from below, eyes closing under the water, swallowing what I could. We stayed there a long while afterward, him soaping me down all over, stopping especially on my tits and cunt, slipping his fingers into me again under the pretext of washing me, while from the living room the muffled moans kept coming through the walls.

—Come on —he said at last, turning off the water—. You don’t want to miss the rest.

***

When we went back to the living room, there was no doubt left about what that was. It was an orgy in the full sense of the word. Bodies everywhere, skin shining, the sound of slaps and ragged breathing mingling with the thick smell of sex, sweat, and semen that had already settled in the air. I saw my friends riding, being ridden, on all fours, with one cock in their mouths and another in their cunts, two of them kissing with an abandon I’d never known in them while one man went from one to the other, taking turns fucking them. Marcela had a guy underneath her, astride him, riding him with her tits bouncing, while another waited behind her with his cock in hand to get in too. And when he did, when they bent her between the two of them, she let out a long moan that made everyone else stop for a second and look at her.

And the most incredible part was that none of them seemed ashamed. Quite the opposite. Marcela caught my eye from the other end of the room, her chin shining with saliva and cum, and she laughed, with a complicit laugh, without guilt. As if to say: it happened, and we’re not going to pretend we didn’t like it.

It was a whole weekend of madness. At some point we started swapping costumes to keep the game going, and that made everything even more absurd and more exciting at once: the cop dressed as the heroine, the heroine wearing the cop’s hat, the roles dissolved into one thing. The men rotated too, and over those hours each of us went through almost all of their hands. I ended up with two at once on a fur rug: one underneath, fucking my cunt, and another on top, putting it in my ass for the first time in my life, and even today I still struggle to believe the things I screamed at that moment. The rest of the weekend we spread out through the bedrooms. A couple stayed in the living room, where it had all started, and in the morning we found them asleep, tangled up and naked, with empty bottles rolling across the floor.

***

This happened a little over a month ago. I broke up with Rodrigo soon after; in the end, what we had had been nothing but a formality for a while. Now I’m only with Mateo, and I should feel calm.

But I’m not entirely. Every time I look at him, every time he hugs me without suspecting a thing, that night comes back to my head and the size of the horns he’s carrying without knowing it. The horns I put on him, in a huge house in Valdivia, surrounded by my friends, one Halloween dawn that none of the seven of us will ever tell.

And even so, if Carolina calls again for another party, I already know exactly what I’m going to answer.